


Beastling

by Samayla



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cat, Durin Line of Idiots, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Post-BOFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samayla/pseuds/Samayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the reclaiming of Erebor, Thorin meets his first kitten, and shenanigans ensue, helped along, of course, by his faithful company…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was something in bed with him. Not just in the bed, but under the covers.  


Moving.  


Thorin gulped, his mind filled with creeping thoughts of shadowy monsters from the deepest mines, come to gobble up young, misbehaving dwarflings. Such thoughts hadn’t entered his mind in decades, not since Fili and Kili had outgrown the shock value of such tales, but the return to the rooms of his childhood had put him in a strange mood.  


He shifted his foot slightly out of the creature’s path. The thing followed.  


In the dim, greenish glow of the pot of cave moss in the corner, Thorin could see the creature as little more than a lump near the foot of the bed. He watched in paralyzed horror as it came closer and closer, moving in short twitches that made the coverlet bunch dramatically and then relax once more in the wake of its passing. Thorin wracked his brain, but he could think of no creature of the mountain that would move in such a fashion. The prick of something sharp against the bottom of his foot sent him fumbling for the dagger under his pillow.  


His hand found the hilt at last, and he surged up into a fighting stance, or the closest approximation he could manage among the blankets. The creature had gone stone still. Thorin fortified himself with a deep breath, then jerked the coverlet back to reveal –  


A cat.  


Or more precisely, a kitten, crouched down against the sheets as though expecting an attack.  


“Mahal preserve us,” Thorin breathed, sinking to his knees on the bed. His one condition, the only condition, to allowing these beasts into his beloved Erebor, had been that they stay out of his way. That meant staying clear of his chambers, especially when he was asleep in them. He laid the dagger back on the bed and then smashed his pillow down over it in a fit of pique before turning back to the fluffy invader.  


“And what are you looking at, beastling?” he groused. He felt gingerly at the bandages encircling his head, and his fingers came away bloody. Oin would be furious at him for getting worked up again. “And over what?” he asked aloud, though of course the kitten did not answer. “Some flea infested bag of bones, hauled up here by a housewife from Dale? You look more likely to be a meal for a rat than to make a meal of one.” He poked at the kitten uncertainly, as it had not yet moved from where it cowered before him. It pushed up into the touch, and Thorin jerked his hand back, startled.  


The spell was broken. The kitten straightened up and chirruped at him. Thorin poked it again. It rose up to its tiptoes and began to strut about the bed, all bluster and curiosity, as though Thorin hadn’t frightened it half to death mere moments before.  


Thorin let out an exasperated half-chuckle at the kitten’s antics. “I assure you there are no rats in the king’s bed, beastling.”  


At the sound of Thorin’s voice, the little cat tucked its head between its paws, upside down, and stared up at him with huge eyes. It’s back half, set off balance by the inversion of its front, flopped down onto the coverlet, and the cat rolled to stick all four legs straight up in the air. One forepaw reached out toward Thorin and batted at the air as the creature writhed across the bed toward him, like some bizarrely fuzzy eel. Thorin felt the corner of his mouth quirk the slightest bit upwards.  


“Mahal preserve us from the darlings of men. What is it you want me to do, beastling?” The cat jumped to its feet and then repeated the whole flop-and-writhe process again, closer this time. When it bumped into his knee, the cat stopped writhing to stare at him upside down again. “How did you even get in here? Slither under the door?” The cat chirruped and batted the air again. Thorin’s bemused smirk grew into a full smile, and he reached out to scratch at the creature’s invitingly soft belly. 

“You’re not so bad, then, are you, beastling?”  


Claws and teeth snapped shut around his hand like a bear trap.  


Thorin roared at the unexpected attack and jerked his hand back. He overbalanced and tumbled off the bed with a resounding crash. The thundering of bootstrikes in the hallway heralded the arrival of reinforcements mere moments later. Two guards shoved their way through the doorway with swords drawn, followed closely by Fili and Kili.  


“Uncle,” his nephews chorused, “what is it?”  


Thorin was certain he presented quite the sight, crouching on the floor among his scattered bedding, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. He cleared his throat and stood, careful to remain well out of reach of the cat, which was watching, upside down again, from the middle of his bed. “Nothing,” he said. He dropped his hand down to his side in what he hoped was a casual motion. “I was merely startled when I fell out of bed. Too many nights sleeping on the hard ground.” He forced out a chuckle and hoped the dimness of the chamber would disguise the blood-soaked bandage on his head.  


Thankfully, the other dwarves sheathed their swords with laughs of their own. The two guards bowed and left quickly, but Fili waited by the door while his brother crossed to the bed. “Dwally!” To Thorin’s astonishment, Kili scooped the little cat up with one hand and planted a kiss on its forehead.  


“Dwally?” Thorin wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know.  


Kili was too enamored with the kitten to answer, but Fili grinned and spoke up. “’Wee Master Dwalin.’ He thinks it’s cute.”  


Kili shot a glare at his brother over his shoulder. “That’s because it is cute,” he insisted. “Isn’t it, Dwally?” Fili just laughed.  


“Does the real Master Dwalin know about this?” Thorin asked, scrubbing his hands over his face to hide his smile. It wouldn’t do to have Dwalin think he’d been encouraging Kili.  


“Of course he doesn’t,” Fili chimed happily. He was clearly enjoying the whole situation immensely, but Thorin didn’t miss the way Fili’s sharp eyes caught the blood on his hand and face. To his credit, he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he laughed again. “Balin knows, though—and thoroughly approves.”  


Thorin started to reply but was brought up short by a dreadful grinding noise. “What in Durin’s name is that?” he roared.  


“Dwally’s just happy to see me,” Kili cooed at the kitten in his arms. “Aren’t you, Dwally?”  


Fili spoke up once more. “It’s called ‘purring.’ The humans said it’s what they do when they’re happy.”  


“Well, go make it happy somewhere else,” Thorin barked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has taken so long, guys! I've been working on some original fiction projects that have claimed much of my attention. But this chapter is nearly three times the length of the last! So hopefully that makes up some for my tardiness :)
> 
> So far, this is looking like it'll be an 8-10 chapter beast, and I swear the next updates won't take nearly so long! 
> 
> Thank you so, so, SO much to all the lovely folks who've taken time to read, kudos, or even review! You guys are my go-to when I need a boost to my writerly confidence! You're amazing!!
> 
> Anywho... hope this one was worth the wait! Enjoy!

Someone coughed.

Thorin cracked one eye open and was greeted by Balin’s rather exaggerated scowl from across the table. Thorin opened his other eye and treated his advisor to an extravagant scowl of his own, feeling a bit like Kili as he pulled the face. The representatives from Mirkwood chose politely not to notice, instead continuing their lecture on river levels.

Balin would have his hide, Thorin thought dimly as his eyelids began to droop once more, but he was so bloody tired. He had already endured one tongue lashing from Oin – undoubtedly alerted to his condition by Fili – in the wee hours of the morning. One more reprimand would hardly kill him, he decided.

Balin’s scowl deepened.

Thorin sighed and made a token effort to pay better attention. The elves were arguing about summer access points to the river. Something about current changes and flooding. Thorin sighed again. He really didn’t see why Balin had insisted on dragging him along to this particular meeting. True, they did want to establish trade with Mirkwood, but the Forest River was well known to the elves. If they knew their business, as surely they did after Mahal knew how many decades of navigating that particular waterway, there was no cause to be lecturing the dwarves about it. Probably just aiming for better prices, Thorin thought irritably, but he nodded along with Balin at some point the elf maid across the table had made.

His eyes slid closed again, and the voice of the elf grew deeper. Within moments, all intelligible sound was lost to a guttural grinding, as of small rocks tumbling into the mines.

 

_Suddenly, Thorin becomes aware that the elf is not an elf at all, but an angry, furry eel. He knows without a doubt that more such eels are writhing their way up from the depths of the mines, where slimy rivers churn sluggishly beneath the mountain. They are coming for him, wielding battle axes and shouting in their voices like falling gravel._

_The eel across the table makes an unbelievable twisting leap and swims through the air like it is water, growling and grumbling all the while. Thorin finds himself paralyzed as the creature swims nearer and an axe materializes in the hand it suddenly seems to simultaneously have and not have._

_The eel is speaking to him, but Thorin can’t understand what it is saying. It waves the axe at Balin, and to Thorin’s horror, his friend collapses amidst a swarm of yet more eels, some wielding axes, others elven swords, and still others spitting fire. There is a flash of gold, and the eel in front of him disappears. Thorin tries frantically to reach his sword to fend off the axe he is sure is still waving wildly just in front of him, but he cannot persuade his arms to move._

_Another eel, this one with eyes that shine like the Arkenstone, appears out of thin air. It spits fire and black pitch at Thorin and snatches a tiny gold ring from nowhere. It throws the trinket into the deep pit that has of course always been beneath his feet. Thorin wonders how it could have ever escaped his notice._

_The first eel reappears with a snarl like the crashing of great boulders and slices the new arrival’s head off.  Its shouts become more insistent as even more eels slither out of the air around them. The gravel-voiced eel brandishes its axe right in Thorin’s face, shouting in obvious desperation as they both begin to fall into the pit. With pity in its eyes, the eel draws back its axe for what Thorin is sure will be a killing blow –_

Thorin started awake. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. He brushed a hand over Orcrist’s hilt to reassure himself he really was awake. “What?” he growled.

The elf repeated her question softly, but the gravel voice from his dream continued.

Confused, Thorin glanced to Balin, who was shaking his head minutely but insistently. “No?” Thorin cleared his throat and tried to sound less like he had no idea what was going on. “No. Certainly n-.”

He trailed off as the fog of the dream cleared and a faint skittering sound, as of small rocks falling, reached his ears. Thorin frowned. Their best inspectors had scouted every inch of the mountain and cleared it of dragon damage before Thorin had allowed anyone else in, but... “Cave in!”

The dwarves in the room dove as one beneath the thick stone table, dragging down those elves within reach as they went.

“Get down!” Thorin bellowed at the few bewildered elves still standing. He seized one elf by the ankle, and his indignant squawk snapped the others out of their shock. They dove beneath the table as well.

Thorin could hear his warning being echoed by other dwarves farther down the corridor, and within moments, the alarm bell took over. Several of the elves looked as though they’d like to speak, but Thorin held up a hand for silence. The dwarves needed no such warning. Many of them had their hands or ears pressed to the floor, listening and feeling for the rumblings that might tell them more about the danger, and a tense conversation in Iglishmêk was already taking place near the far end of the table. Thorin felt a surge of pride. His people needed no long speeches to prove they knew their business.

{Large or small collapse?} Thorin signed over the shoulder of the nearest elf.

{Small,} was the reply, flashed at him from half a dozen pairs of hands.

The skittering sound grew louder, and at the sudden crash that echoed down the hall, several members of the party cracked their heads against the underside of the table. Thorin held up a hand for silence once more, even as he rubbed at his own head, and his companions stifled their pained groans. Thorin could feel his companions tense as the sound drew yet closer, though how the rocks could be travelling up the stairs to their chamber, Thorin had no idea.

The mystery was solved when the kitten from the night before came skidding into the chamber, followed closely by another, much larger cat. At once, the kitten spied Thorin crouched beneath the head of the table. It scrabbled sideways with a sound like a minor rockslide in its haste to reach him.

The other cat, not nearly as quick to change direction on bare stone, collided violently with a chair and tore back out of the room with the hair on its tail standing on end. The kitten, startled by the crash of its pursuer, put on a last burst of speed and launched itself to Thorin’s shoulder, where it dug its claws in and all but disappeared into the thick fur of Thorin’s coat.

Thorin became painfully aware that everyone under the table was staring at him. Though he was becoming increasingly certain that the cats had been responsible for the commotion in the hall, he used the premise of listening for further sounds of a rock fall to buy himself time to think. That cause, however, was quickly lost as the kitten dug its claws painfully into Thorin’s shoulder, even through his thick coat, and took up its dreadful grinding – purring – again.

“The disaster team should be here soon,” Thorin assured the nervous-looking elves.

The word ‘disaster’ didn’t seem to do much to calm them, so Balin spoke up. “Not to worry. Bitter experience has taught us to be prepared, lest tragedy catch us unawares. We have plans in place to deal quickly and safely with all manner of mishap within the mountain.”

The elves still didn’t look convinced.

{Waste of time,} Thorin signed irritably.

Balin shook his head. {No waste. Patching new cracks.} The older dwarf raised an eyebrow as if to say this was all Thorin’s fault.

A handful of tense minutes passed before hallooing could be heard in the corridor.

“In here,” Thorin called back.

“Thank Mahal,” Dwalin exclaimed as he burst into the chamber. He froze at the scene that greeted him, and several members of the disaster team entering behind him crashed into his hulking frame.

They must have presented quite the sight, Thorin thought with half a wry smile. Elves and dwarves, in all their imposing finery, huddled together beneath the table like dwarflings playing hide-and-seek. As if intent on underscoring their ridiculousness, the kitten chose that moment to stand and stretch. It chirruped at the newcomers and then settled down into the collar of Thorin’s coat again.

Dwalin stared.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Thorin snapped, crawling out from under the table as majestically as he could before turning to help Balin. “Get us out of here.”

That seemed to jolt everyone back into action. For the elves’ benefit, their rescuers made a show of conducting a quick inspection of the chamber for cracks. With the room and corridor declared clear of danger, Thorin discovered what cattle must feel like as he and the others were hustled down hall after endless hall. He mentally cursed himself for insisting the meeting with the Mirkwood delegation take place so impressively deep within the mountain. A soft buzzing sound, as of angry bees, grew slowly behind him, and he knew the others were cursing his pride, too.

Finally, they emerged into the harsh, afternoon light of the Desolation through a door cleverly hidden in the mountainside. Thorin had had a dozen such doorways built in Erebor, and he could hear Balin extolling the virtues of a quick escape route to the elves behind him as he stood and surveyed the scene before him. Already, a veritable city of tents and cloth pavilions had been erected in the waste, looking like nothing so much as growth of brightly colored fungus clinging to the dust in the lee of the mountain.

As their rescue party returned to the task of emptying the mountain, Dwalin led Thorin and the others to a large, blue tent on the near edge of the sprawl. Inside, they found several chairs and even a table laid with a map of the mountain showing the major districts of Erebor. The elves at once drifted to a far corner of the tent and began twittering to one another in their flowery forest language that set Thorin’s teeth on edge. Balin cast one elf maid an apologetic smile as he followed the other dwarves to gather around the table, but she merely raised her eyebrows and continued chattering with her fellows.

 _“Bad business, that,”_ Balin said in Khuzdul after Thorin had dismissed all but himself and Dwalin to go check up on loved ones. “ _It’ll take a trip to Mirkwood to polish these scratches. Mark my words.”_

Thorin swore colorfully.

“ _Consider them marked, brother,”_ Dwalin commented drily.

Balin opened his mouth to make an indignant reply, but Thorin cut him off by gripping his friend’s shoulder. _“Please, Balin, for Mahal’s sake, get rid of these flower-eaters so I can think.”_ He raised his free hand to rub at his throbbing temple. _“I promise I will fix all of this. Later.”_

Balin sighed but nodded. “Of course.” He disappeared outside the tent for a few moments, and when he came back in, it was with a broad diplomatic smile plastered across his face. “Good news, my friends,” he called to the elves as he approached. “I’ve just gotten word that a separate tent has been prepared for your party. I hope you will be much more comfortable with the proper, elf-sized chairs they’re bringing down from the mountain even now.” He chuckled, and to Thorin’s relief, some of the tension melted from the air.

As he passed the table with the herd of still-twittering elves in tow, Balin asked lowly, _“Do you need me to find Oin?”_

 _“I’ll go,”_ Dwalin offered. _“Discreetly.”_

Thorin shook his head and immediately regretted the motion. “No,” he said firmly, switching back to Common just to get the bloody tree-shaggers to stop glaring at him. “I just need a little peace.”

“Alright, laddie.” Balin reached out to pat Thorin’s shoulder but was brought up short by a hiss and swatting paw. Thorin growled and swatted back at the kitten, but it dodged his clumsy effort deftly and settled on his opposite shoulder.

Thorin scrubbed his hands across his face with a groan as it began purring again. “Just go.”

“Well, if you change your mind, just send Dwalin,” Balin said with false cheer, as if Thorin were some naïve dwarfling who could be fooled into submitting himself to a healer’s scolding just because Balin made it sound like a good time. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Thorin’s sank into a chair, and his eyes slid closed in the relative quiet. He could feel Dwalin’s gaze boring into him. He cracked one eye open. “Sit,” he murmured, and Dwalin shrugged and did so, though he continued to stare. Thorin couldn’t bring himself to care. Aside from the purring cat and the muffled chaos outside his tent, all was calm around Thorin, and he was ready for a break.

His peace was short-lived, however. No sooner had the tent flap fallen shut behind the last of the elves, than half a dozen dwarves trooped in, the emblems on their chests marking them out as district overseers among the emergency staff.

Thorin took a deep breath and surged to his feet again to clasp arms with each of the new arrivals in turn. “How goes the evacuation?” he asked, but as several of the dwarves clamored to report at the same time, he noted two important absences. He turned to the dwarf nearest. “Where are Nori and Bofur?”

“Master Nori bid us come report to you, sire, as he and Master Bofur have begun the inspections already. Master Nori thought to speed up this whole affair. He sends his apologies, of course, for his absence.”

Thorin snorted. He doubted very much whether Nori had thought of his reaction at all. But then, that was part of why Thorin had appointed him to head up the emergency response effort: he could think on his feet and then act accordingly. He didn’t need the bureaucratic hand-holding so many of Thorin’s advisors did. And Bofur was there to temper his rashness. And they both of them had the strongest stone sense Thorin had ever seen.

“No apologies are necessary,” Thorin assured the dwarf. “They’re doing well.” If Nori was heading up the effort to clean up this mess already, then so much the better. It was one less thing for Thorin to worry about himself.

Three more dwarves strode into the tent and straight up to Thorin. They each clasped arms with him and then fell to bickering with the rest of the overseers over which of them should report on their district first.

“Iron Row is cleared, sire,” said the dwarf nearest Thorin.

“The mithril mine, too.”

“And the forges,” shouted one dwarf near the back. “But the projects down there will have to be completely reworked. And if—“

“Two stalls in the cloth market were trampled, and the merchants are wanting to know –“

“The Rust Warrens are a nightmare. We’ll need more help if we’re to be expected to—“

Thorin’s battered brain lurched into action as the dwarves crowded closer and closer in an effort to make themselves heard. He slammed his hands down on the table. “Silence!”

Surprised silence fell.

He took a deep breath and turned to the nearest dwarf, the one who’d spoken for Iron Row. “How were response times?”

“Response times, sire?”

“Response time to the drill,” Thorin said, imperiously enough to convince all the dwarves present that they were the ones who had confused matters and that they had best begin worrying about it.

The Iron Row dwarf began wringing his hands. “Oh. Ah...” He looked to his comrades for assistance, but of course, they had no more information than he did.

Thorin nodded grimly, as though he had expected as much but hoped for so much better. “I’ll want a full report by this time tomorrow,” he said. “Include any problems you encountered with evacuation – damages, injuries, and the like – as well as suggestions for avoiding them in the future. That is, after all, the point of this whole exercise. Understood?”

“Aye, sire.”

“Dwalin, will you go warn Nori about the reports? I don’t think he’ll take the news well, but we may as well get something useful out of this mess.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed. “And I’ll warn Bofur about Nori, too, while I’m out. Can’t be too careful.”

The overseers trooped back out through the tent flap, and Thorin watched them go with relief. His head was pounding, and he wanted nothing so much as a good, long, catless nap.

But peace, it seemed, wanted nothing to do with Thorin. “Uncle!” Fili dashed into the tent with Kili close on his heels. He clasped arms with Thorin and scanned his face with concern in his eyes. Thorin suspected the pain in his head must be showing in his face. “Is everything alright?”

“Where was the collapse?” Kili asked. “Someone said it was near your meeting. Are you okay?”

“It was a drill. All is well,” Thorin growled, “no thanks to your little beast.”

“What’s happened to Dwally?” Kili demanded, looking horror-stricken.

At the sound of its name, the kitten sat up from where it had been doing an admirable job of impersonating Thorin’s fur collar. It stretched and chirruped at Kili, then settled back down to bat at one of Thorin’s braids.

“Get this blasted beast off of me,” Thorin snarled, trying and failing yet again to swat the cat off his shoulder.

Kili’s hands succeeded where Thorin’s had failed. He disengaged the kitten from Thorin’s shoulder and cradled it like a babe, somehow managing to stroke its soft belly without incurring the creature’s wrath. “What a good boy you are, aren’t you, Dwally?” Kili clucked. “So brave and smart to stay with Uncle Thorin through that awful commotion. Must have been terrible.”

Thorin stared in disbelief as Kili wandered out of the tent, still cooing about the kitten’s bravery and perhaps finding it some fish in the kitchens. Fili, chuckling a little to himself at the look on Thorin’s face, followed his brother.


End file.
